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you wouldn't see it


Jan 1, 2000
upstate NY
You wouldn't see it if you weren't looking for it. It's doorway tucked at the bottom of a narrow, uninviting concrete staircase in between two towering buildings in Lower Manhatten. You wouldn't even know of it's existence unless you were directed towards it, as thousands have been over the years. It's the Jewel of Denial. A small, dimly-lit bar with an atmosphere you can almost taste as you step inside.

Open since the early nineteen-hundreds, the establishment had undergone several changes of ownership, several changes of name, but always maintained it's reputation. It's mystique. It was that mystique ... that air of subdued, calm yet somehow dangerous foreboding that had always drawn Max Blackshire here.

To him, and no doubt to countless others, the Jewel of Denial seemed like the perfect little place to have one more drink before heading off to fight the battle you know you may not return from.

Sulking in a back corner booth, the bulb in the hanging lamp above the table either blown or not-there-at-all, Max jabbed his unfiltered into the ashtray, shoving the tray away from him with a dismissive flip of the hand before leaning back.

He sighed, eyes scanning the dark bar. It was half-full. A busy night, Max thought, eyes flitting to the television mounted high above the bar - the volume muted, screen dusty and smeared. An eyebrow raised as an ad for the PPV replay of GXW's GLOBAL WARFARE aired.

Max downed a fair amount of his beer, eyes fixed on the screen. Ever since getting himself signed with GXW through ... somewhat nefarious means, Max had waited. Patiently. The GXW brass were in NO hurry to put him on the road, let alone Live TV. And Max Blackshire was in no hurry to show up to a GXW show ... unless he knew for sure - without a doubt - that his 'prey' would be there.

The PPV ad flashed quick highlight clips from the event -- Max squinted his eyes to see -- shots of the various performers --

Max's eyes suddenly went wide.

"...it's him", Max muttered flatly. "He's back."

Sliding out of the booth, hand grabbing his coat, Max marched across the bar - not even getting as much as a glance from the other patrons (something else Max liked about the Jewel), boards creaking beneath his boots with each step. At the door, he glanced back over his shoulder at the television, which showed the commercial wrapping up.

Max saw yet another brief shot of Rob Sampson.


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